Sometimes, little Fangfang felt that the matter of seniority was the strangest thing. On the surface, he seemed to be the eldest in the family, but when it came time to make decisions, he suddenly became the youngest.
When his niece wasn’t home, Aunt Ping was put in charge of supervising him—this wasn’t allowed, that wasn’t allowed. Even though he was the little boss who paid the salaries, there was no special treatment to be had. Now that his niece was right beside him, the restrictions only grew stricter—she wouldn’t even let him buy a mobile phone!
The young master was far from convinced, but his niece was a decisive madam who never minced her words. The little one had no choice but to obediently slap his cash on the counter and ask the shopkeeper for the latest model of mobile phone—just one, no more.
"Hmph." Fangfang snorted through his nose again.
As for the original plot points—keywords like cannon-fodder female side characters, white moonlight, the original female lead, or the original male lead—Zhu Qing had long since tossed them to the back of her mind. Ever since she altered two key plot points, these characters had become completely irrelevant, nothing more than relics of the past.
What mattered now was the little villain’s path of growth.
Her niece always kept in mind that she mustn’t spoil the child too much. At every opportunity, she had to discipline him properly.
"Last time, you lost that little Iron Man figurine you kept in your pocket. If you buy a mobile phone, you’ll probably lose that too."
"Sheng Fang, no squandering."
Little Sheng Fang tilted his head to the side. "I just wanted to invite my friends for tea sometime!"
All along, Fangfang had been mingling among adults.
Grown-ups were always talking about having tea when they had time, so he naturally picked it up. The moment his niece mentioned going to kindergarten, the first thought that popped into his head was also "let’s have tea sometime."
But now, his niece laid down a stern fact.
"Not a single kid in your class has a mobile phone."
Even if the young master of the Sheng family brought the latest model to kindergarten, he wouldn’t get any response.
Finally, Fangfang was convinced.
"None of them have one?" He pouted, his childish face full of disdain.
When they got home, Aunt Ping heard about it and laughed so hard she nearly toppled over.
"Young master, if you’re this unconventional—" She drew out her words, teasing the little one on purpose, "you’ll get left out, you know."
"I don’t care." The little one tossed out those words before marching over to the sofa. Like a diver preparing for a jump, he stood straight, then suddenly leaped—launching himself onto the cushions.
The child sank into the plush, oversized sofa.
His head was tilted to the side, his short legs propped up on the armrest. He grabbed the remote and mindlessly flipped through channels. None of the shows held his interest—not even cartoons could make the young master stop his restless channel-surfing.
Bored out of his mind, he finally reached the last channel, pressed the standby button at the top of the remote, and tossed it aside.
No fun. Time to go back to his room.
Sheng Fang’s figure was tiny, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
Chin raised high, he walked off without a backward glance—a picture of cool nonchalance.
Zhu Qing watched his retreating back before picking up the acceptance letter from Weston Kindergarten on the coffee table and putting it away.
He might say he didn’t want to be friends with ordinary kindergarten kids, but deep down, he was looking forward to it a little, wasn’t he?
......
Aunt Ping told Sheng Fang not to rush—once Zhu Qing flipped the calendar to the next page, it would mean the following month. There was still a while before his official enrollment.
Of course he knew that the next page meant the next month! It was just that, at the time, all his attention had been seized by the acceptance letter, so he hadn’t noticed!
But no matter what, kindergarten was still a long way off. The young master, carefree as ever, pushed the thought out of his mind.
Aunt Ping, wearing her reading glasses, asked Zhu Qing for a piece of paper and started making a list for Fangfang.
It was the young master’s first time going to kindergarten, and there were many things to prepare. The little miss was great at solving cases, but asking her to handle these everyday trivialities was just too much for her.
So Aunt Ping took it upon herself to list everything out, one by one—no rush, no detail overlooked.
"Lightweight sneakers—kids run and jump all day, so comfort is key."
"New handkerchiefs, with the young master’s name embroidered on them."
"The school uniform and backpack—will the kindergarten provide those? Ah, right, I need to order the uniform—"
"A waterproof bib too, the young master always gets his clothes dirty when he eats… Oh, and a spare set of clothes to bring along."
Zhu Qing had never really been a "child" herself—no matter what happened, she’d always had to handle things on her own. Now that she was grown and working, she had somehow become the child in Aunt Ping’s eyes, with the older woman fussing over every little thing for her.
Niece and uncle each had a bowl of noodles in front of them, complete with identically sized poached eggs. Slurping up their noodles, they discussed their plans for the day.
"Zhu Qing, where are you going later?"
"Me? Work, of course."
Fangfang tilted his head playfully. "Me too."
Little Sheng Fang hadn’t gone to work with Zhu Qing in a while. The grown-up had a sense of boundaries—when she was swamped with cases, he’d find other ways to entertain himself. But now that the investigation was winding down, nearing its conclusion, he could finally tag along to the Yau Ma Tei Police Station for a visit.
As for that high-ranking superintendent in the fancy office? Fangfang couldn’t care less. Madam cracked big cases and earned big merits—who’d dare give her uncle any trouble?
Early in the morning, the hardworking old lady selling put chai ko (steamed rice cakes) had already set up her stall in the back alley of the police station. Fangfang picked out a red bean-flavored one and was about to leave when he suddenly pointed at her stall. "I’ll take all of these."
The old woman’s eyes lit up instantly. Skewering the cakes with bamboo sticks, she hurriedly began packing them up.
Before Zhu Qing could react, the young master had decided to treat everyone to put chai ko.
"Zhu Qing’s paying."
"Share them with the colleagues."
Little Sheng Fang held his own put chai ko in one hand and his brand-new mobile phone in the other.
Functions his niece hadn’t even figured out yet, he’d already mastered. Twirling the phone as he walked, he showed off his shiny new upgrade.
Everyone took a put chai ko and entered their home phone numbers into the kid’s contact list.
Zhu Qing couldn’t understand—what did she need Xu Jiale or Hao Zai’s home numbers for? Was she supposed to call them at home?
They probably didn’t get it either, but when the young master of the Sheng family made a request, you had to humor him.
Weng Zhaolin was the last one asked to input his number.
The young master noticed that his lifestyle was clearly a cut above the rest—because he, too, had a mobile phone!
Though, Zhaolin’s wasn’t the latest model.
By the time Zhu Qing realized Weng Zhaolin had already added his number to the contacts, it was too late.
"What about your number?"
Sheng Fang: "I’ll enter it for you."
There was no stopping it—she had somehow exchanged contact details with Weng Zhaolin.
"Rough." Zeng Yongshan looked at her sympathetically. "Now, whenever Weng Zhaolin needs something, you’ll be the first one he calls."
Zhu Qing’s eyes widened. "Really?"
Not only Zeng Yongshan, but the entire officers of the Serious Crimes Team B were seeing their usually stoic madam display such a heart-wrenching expression for the first time.
Weng Zhaolin wasn’t someone easily brushed off. When faced with a tough case, even Mo Zhenbang would sneak out through the back door of the police station after work just to avoid running into him. Now, he had obtained Zhu Qing’s mobile number and could contact her directly to inquire about the investigation progress.
Truly a sorrowful piece of news.
They sighed along with her, nodding solemnly in unison—
"Really."
From the Senior Inspector’s office, Zhaolin’s loud voice suddenly rang out.
"Why is the rice pudding coconut-flavored?"
Uncle Li quietly relayed the inside scoop to the others.
Weng Zhaolin despised anything coconut-flavored because, years ago, his wife had bought a bottle of coconut-scented body wash covered in English text. Mistaking it for coconut juice, he took several gulps before rushing to the hospital. Fortunately, he was unharmed, but the unfortunate consequence was that he now refused to even touch coconut chicken soup.
"Why buy coconut-flavored rice pudding?"
"I never eat this flavor."
Soon after, the young master’s aloof voice drifted out as well.
"Be grateful there’s anything to eat at all."
……
Zhu Qing had mentioned to Mo Zhenbang that she wanted to meet Li Ziyao.
Understanding her feelings, Mo Zhenbang followed procedure and arranged for them to meet privately.
"Fifteen minutes," Mo Zhenbang said. "Interrogation Room Two. I’ve already informed them."
"Thank you, Mo Zhenbang."
The door to Interrogation Room Two was slightly ajar, and Li Ziyao was already seated inside.
Her hair was neatly combed, her makeup removed, and her gaze was calm and serene. Having finally confessed to the crime, she seemed more at ease than ever.
With a soft click, the metal door closed behind Zhu Qing as she took a seat across from her.
Zhu Qing was smiling, the corners of her lips faintly upturned.
Li Ziyao remarked that since their reunion, they had never truly spoken openly with each other.
"Don’t look at me like that. I’m really fine, truly," Li Ziyao said gently. "To be safe, I cut contact with Yayun during this time, but I know she must have been thinking the same thing as me. We both wondered—are there other victims still trapped in the shadows, too afraid to speak up?"
"Maybe they’ll never come forward. But he’s dead now. That’s good. If they knew, they’d feel some relief too."
"There won’t be any new victims… not anymore."
"Going to prison is worth it. At least this way, we’ve given an answer to everyone who’s suffered."
Ever since her parents’ sudden deaths, Li Ziyao had struggled with sleepless nights for ten long years.
She kept asking why over and over, unsure if she was questioning fate or herself.
But last night, for the first time, she slept soundly.
All the grudges and entanglements had finally reached their end. She lost her freedom; Fang Songsheng lost his life. A fair trade, in her eyes.
"I need to confirm your statement one more time," Zhu Qing said. "Here, you mentioned you didn’t provide the murder weapon?"
"No," Li Ziyao affirmed. "I’ve told them repeatedly—I don’t know the details of what happened that night."
Zhu Qing pressed further, confirming that Li Ziyao had neither supplied the weapon, assisted in the killing, nor tampered with the crime scene.
This meant the judge was unlikely to rule her as an accomplice to murder. The nature of the charge would be entirely different, and so would the sentence. From a legal standpoint, Zhu Qing couldn’t say much, but in her heart, she already knew.
She closed the case file.
"Don’t worry about me," Li Ziyao suddenly said with a smile. "No matter how many years I get, it’s fine. Ten years without proper sleep—maybe prison will let me catch up on rest."
Zhu Qing’s lips curled slightly in response.
"Sister Xinxin."
A soft voice called out.
That name carried with it the musty scent of the orphanage’s damp walls, the peeling paint of their childhood… Back then, they were both so small, wrapping their thin arms around each other for warmth on cold winter nights.
Li Ziyao froze, momentarily dazed, then instinctively lowered her head, brushing a non-existent strand of hair from her forehead. But her hair was already perfectly smoothed back, not a single loose strand in sight. She let out a quiet laugh.
The first time she saw Zhu Qing outside the music store, catching the shock in her eyes, Li Ziyao had wondered—did she still deserve to be called that name?
"That’s right, I never sought out Director Guo. On the day Fang Songsheng died, Teacher Amy called me back to the store. When I saw you there and realized you were a police officer, I started asking around for your address. A private investigator Yayun introduced me to—I still had his contact."
"We had everything planned out. The only thing we didn’t expect was that the officer handling the case would be my childhood best friend."
"After seeing you, I didn’t know who to turn to—no one I could discuss this with. Luo Weiwei, Dai Feng… I couldn’t drag them into this again. All I could think was that for Grandma Yan’s sake, I had to make sure nothing went wrong. So I got close to you… to keep tabs on the investigation."
"I’m sorry for using your trust like that," Li Ziyao paused. "But that day, sharing walnut cakes with you—I really was happy. That part was true."
That day, she had bought an entire box of walnut cakes.
They only ate one together, breaking it in half just like when they were kids.
Even though the bakery’s loudspeaker blared about "secret family recipes," the taste wasn’t the same as she remembered—not as fragrant, not as crisp.
But for some reason, in that moment, the air itself seemed to carry the scent of their past.
After leaving the orphanage, she had often missed those days.
Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine they’d meet again, side by side, just like before.
"I’m sorry."
"Don’t be," Zhu Qing shook her head gently. "What I wanted to say is—the letter and photo your parents sent to Director Guo… I still have them."
"Can you hold onto them for me?" Li Ziyao asked.
"Give them back when I’m out." She hesitated, then added hastily, "If it’s too much trouble, just leave them at the security gate—"
"I’ll meet you for coffee," Zhu Qing cut in. "I’ll hand them to you myself."
Li Ziyao didn’t answer immediately.
Her lashes lowered, her eyes suddenly glistening. A tear fell onto the back of her hand, her chipped red nails digging into her palm.
Deep down, she longed to hold onto this rare warmth from her memories.
But back then, she could barely keep herself afloat.
"Alright," she finally said, lifting her gaze. "When that day comes, I’ll treat you to walnut cakes again… if that old shop is still around."
"It must still be there." Zhu Qing's voice was soft but certain. "It's an old establishment after all."
...
When Zhu Qing emerged from interrogation room number two, her colleagues immediately gathered around her.
"How did it go? What did she say?"
"Any regrets—"
Last night, the lamp in Zeng Yongshan's room had burned until dawn.
She had been poring over legal texts and case studies about the jury system, and just moments ago, she had been discussing the topic with everyone.
Truthfully, it was clear to all of them that Fang Yayun and Li Ziyao showed no trace of remorse. Their actions hadn’t been impulsive—they were deliberate, calculated choices.
"During yesterday’s interrogation, Fang Yayun said she didn’t regret it. At the very least, they helped Ni Fangrun and Zhou Lingyi get justice. She didn’t know how many unspeakable things her father had done behind the scenes over the years, but they could all guess..."
"For Fang Songsheng, the time before his death was when he was closest to happiness. His daughter was touring the world, thanking him in her curtain calls for his guidance. His young, docile fiancée was by his side—his good days had only just begun. But because of Yan Fengying, those 'good days' came to an abrupt end..."
"Fang Songsheng’s good days were over, but at the same time, the new lives that Li Ziyao, Fang Yayun, and Yan Fengying were about to embark on were also cut short."
Discussing the case still left the officers with a sense of melancholy.
Fang Yayun and Henry had only just reconciled, finally reunited as lovers—yet now they had to face separation again. During the days the police had been tailing her, the two had been inseparable. Was it because Fang Yayun feared this day would come, and so she cherished every moment they had together?
Li Ziyao had once switched careers to work in a salon. Dai Feng’s video rental business was finally stabilizing. They had dreamed of a bright future, of building a small family of their own... But she couldn’t let go of her obsession, and in the end, she chose revenge. When Dai Feng, believing everything was settled, waited for her outside her apartment, what had Li Ziyao been thinking? Had she turned him away because she knew some broken things could never be mended, or because she was certain the police would uncover the truth?
"Do you think Henry and Dai Feng will wait for them?"
"Yongshan... your focus is always so romantic."
"It’s such a shame. They had everything planned out—Luo Weiwei mentioned Li Ziyao was looking to rent a new apartment, and Fang Yayun was ready to start fresh..."
"No point dwelling on it now. Who knows how the judge will rule in the end."
Little Sheng Fang sat in Weng Zhaolin’s office, perched on the high-backed swivel chair.
He shifted slightly, his toes barely touching the ground, then pushed off like he was rowing a boat, gliding out of the office door to listen in on the conversation.
"Fang Yayun and Li Ziyao weren’t directly involved in the murder, so they can’t be considered accomplices—at most, they’re guilty of withholding information and fabricating alibis to protect Yan Fengying... That’s obstruction of justice."
"The law isn’t blind to human sentiment. The judge will likely take the unique circumstances of the case into account. Fang Yayun and Li Ziyao’s mothers were both victims—that might warrant leniency. Their sentences could range from two to three years, maybe even probation."
"Yan Fengying’s situation is trickier. If her lawyer can prove she’d been suffering from long-term depression after her daughter’s death and was emotionally unstable at the time of the crime, the charge might be reduced from murder to manslaughter, which would mean a lighter sentence. Still, she did kill someone—"
"Looking at similar past cases, juries have shown mercy out of sympathy... But no matter what, justice must always come before personal feelings."
"Fang Songsheng’s crimes were grave, but if we condone vigilante justice in the name of righteousness, aren’t we encouraging everyone to take the law into their own hands?"
Sheng Fang finished his bowl cake, but his little mouth still felt empty and lonely.
Weng Zhaolin handed over his own coconut-flavored bowl cake. "Lucky you."
The young master of the Sheng family eyed this inexplicable man, his small hands still resting lazily on the armrests of the swivel chair.
He studied the bite taken out of the bowl cake, then glanced up at Weng Zhaolin. "You bit this."
Weng Zhaolin choked back a retort and tossed the remaining bowl cake—still in its bag—into the trash.
"Such a waste," the little master tutted, shaking his head disapprovingly.
Weng Zhaolin: "..."
Suddenly, it dawned on him.
Wait, why was this kid in his office, making him play host?
"Zhu Qing!" Weng Zhaolin called out toward the hallway. "Come get your charge!"
...
The murder case of Fang Songsheng was finally closed.
For days afterward, Weng Zhaolin walked around with a spring in his step, his polished shoes tapping out a cheerful rhythm against the floor.
Being the cheapskate he was, Weng Zhaolin wasn’t about to throw them a victory banquet. But he did spring for afternoon tea—a few boxes of egg tarts and egg waffles wouldn’t break the bank.
As for Zhu Qing, she spent her days being pestered by little Sheng Fang to learn how to drive.
He couldn’t fathom how his niece could tolerate not having a car at home—it was so inconvenient!
The driving school fees had already been paid, but this time, the young master upgraded her to an accelerated course.
What normally took three to five months to get a license would now take just one.
The condensed timeline meant Zhu Qing had to pour all her energy into studying.
She was up at dawn for driving practice before work, then back at it after her shift. Fangfang had declared that the police academy’s top graduate should tackle this challenge with the same determination—a mere driver’s license was nothing!
By the end of each day, Zhu Qing was drained, either slumped over her desk at the station or collapsed on the sofa at home.
Was learning to drive really worth all this?
"Too intense!" Sheng Fang said, massaging his niece’s shoulders.
Besides the road test, there was also the written exam.
Sheng Fang held the Road Users’ Code like a strict instructor, tapping the whiteboard with the spine of the book.
The little teacher wasn’t about to write out the questions—he knew the characters, but he wasn’t about to put in that much effort.
Instead, he scribbled on the whiteboard:
A. B. C. D.
"Multiple choice," Sheng Fang announced in his childish voice. "If your car stalls in a tunnel, what should you do?"
"Sudden engine failure, huh?" Aunt Ping chimed in from her seat in the audience.
The kid refused to be a student at kindergarten, but he loved playing teacher.
His marker underlined the options:
"A. Get out and push the car."
Aunt Ping scoffed. "Definitely not A. Who would even pick that?"
"B."
"Correct! How did you remember the answer?"
Zhu Qing recited, "Turn on the hazard lights and stay in the car to wait for help."
Sheng Fang flipped through his little notebook.
It seemed his niece had been studying hard—she even had the answers memorized.
Teacher Sheng was quite strict with his student, not even arranging reasonable breaks between lessons.
Zhu Qing was exhausted, her entire body aching as she lazily lay on the sofa answering questions.
Sheng Fang nodded in satisfaction. "Next question."
"What should you do when an ambulance approaches with its siren on?"
By the time the little kid listed the four options, Aunt Ping had already jumped in with the answer.
"Of course, you should make way for it."
"When driving at night, the high beams from an oncoming car blind you. What should you do? A. Flash your high beams back at them..."
This question was just ridiculous.
Aunt Ping shook her head, clicking her tongue. "Is the driving test really this easy? Even I could pass."
"Not at all," Sheng Fang said seriously. "The written exam has a 50% pass rate, and the road test is even worse—only 30%."
Zhu Qing and Aunt Ping exchanged bewildered looks.
Where did he get these statistics?
"Brother Hua told me," Sheng Fang said, flashing a "no big deal" gesture.
Every night, Zhu Qing went out for driving practice.
Nighttime lessons cost extra, and when her uncle went to pay, he’d also keep an eye on his niece to make sure she was learning properly. The instructor wasn’t in the car every minute—sometimes he’d step out for fresh air, and the little kid would sit beside him, chatting away.
By now, Zhu Qing still addressed the instructor as "Master Wang," but Sheng Fang had already warmed up to him, calling him "Brother Hua."
Aunt Ping gasped. "It’s that hard to pass?"
"That’s why we have to work hard," Uncle Fangfang lectured his niece. "Aim to pass on the first try and get your license."
...
Aunt Ping had school uniforms tailored to Sheng Fang’s measurements.
When the uniforms arrived, the cool little master wouldn’t even try them on—he wouldn’t so much as glance at them.
Lately, Aunt Ping hadn’t been staying with them often.
The villa in the hills had been empty for too long and needed cleaning. Since there weren’t any major cases at the station, Zhu Qing wasn’t too busy, so sometimes she’d stay over if she worked late tidying up.
Now that Zhu Qing and Aunt Ping had grown closer, they even joked around sometimes.
The hillside mansion had seen two deaths—and one dog—but Aunt Ping, with nerves sturdier than a CID detective’s, lived there alone without a hint of fear.
Sheng Fang gave her a thumbs-up.
Truly the Aunt Ping of a police family!
Their lives gradually settled back into their usual rhythm.
During the day, Aunt Ping looked after Sheng Fang. Once Zhu Qing got off work, Aunt Ping would take the bus to the hills, figuring the uncle-niece pair might need some private time.
With just Sheng Fang and Zhu Qing left at home, they began attempting to cook—with disastrous results.
Fangfang and Zhu Qing’s skills improved slightly, and on lucky days, they managed to whip up something edible.
"Zhu Qing, this meat patty is passable!"
"Is it good?"
"Zhu Qing, it’s just passable..."
Zhu Qing had never been picky about food.
Now, even the spoiled little master had lowered his standards—if it was edible, that was good enough.
On unlucky days, their stir-fries turned out both unappetizing and inedible.
Then they’d head downstairs together,
spring in the air,
to buy crispy-skinned roast goose as a treat.
Once, while buying roast goose, they ran into Zeng Yongshan and Liang Qikai.
Fangfang leaned in and whispered to Zhu Qing, "Why are these two meeting alone at a dessert shop? They should’ve invited everyone!"
Zhu Qing thought that maybe the original storyline’s main plot hadn’t changed after all.
As the original female and male leads, they were bound to be drawn to each other eventually.
Since they’d already bumped into them, Liang Qikai invited them to join.
"Life’s been pretty good lately," Liang Qikai said with a content smile. "If only it could stay this peaceful, with no new cases—"
Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan immediately cut him off, their voices laced with warning: "Hey!"
Sheng Fang dramatically clutched his chest. "Don’t jinx it!"
...
Lately, Zhu Qing had been too busy to visit Sheng Peirong at the care facility properly—when she did go, she could only stay briefly before rushing off.
Now that Fang Songsheng’s murder case was officially closed, she had more time, even sneaking out during lunch breaks. This "golden cicada molts its shell" escape tactic had been personally taught to her by Zeng Yongshan.
Zhu Qing learned to spread out a few case files on her desk and leave a personal item—like a jacket draped over her chair—
so if the boss came checking, her colleagues could cover for her, saying she’d just stepped away briefly.
Zhu Qing followed the method faithfully.
Right before lunch, she quietly slipped out of the CID office.
A while later, Mo Zhenbang emerged from his office.
"Where’s Zhu Qing?"
"Mo Sir, she went to make copies. She’ll be right back."
Mo Zhenbang: "Tell her to print an extra copy of the case report for me when she returns."
Zeng Yongshan smoothly covered for Zhu Qing. Once he left, she grabbed the phone to warn her.
When the cell phone’s ringtone blared, Zeng Yongshan froze for a second.
The whole point of leaving personal items was to make Zhu Qing’s "brief absence" seem more believable.
But why leave her phone behind?
How was she supposed to warn her now?!
Zeng Yongshan hung up and kept the phone safe for Zhu Qing.
So much for the fearless detective—now she was just fearless and clueless!
Zhu Qing, meanwhile, was already in a car with Sheng Fang, heading to the care facility, completely unaware that Mo Zhenbang was looking for her.
On such a hot day, Fangfang absolutely refused to squeeze into a minibus with his niece.
Truthfully, he wasn’t too keen on taxis either, nagging her about her driving test progress like a proper fussy elder.
His niece shot back—wasn’t he the one preaching about balanced education and not overworking?
Fangfang: "Isn’t cruising around fun?"
Next time, he wanted her to get a motorcycle license too.
Then he could sit behind her, helmet on, looking cool.
"Vroom vroom—" Sheng Fang clenched his little fists, pretending to twist motorcycle handles. "Zoom!"
...
This time, Zhu Qing had brought a few books she’d carefully picked out for Sheng Peirong at a Wan Chai bookstore.
Sheng Fang hadn’t been idle either—he’d bought a fresh bouquet of lilies from a flower shop along the way. The moment they entered the room, the little one hugged an empty vase and trotted to the nurses’ station, sweetly asking a nurse to help arrange the flowers.
Soon, the once-sterile room felt warm and lively.
Zhu Qing placed a few finance magazines and business case studies on the bedside table, while Sheng Fang positioned the vase of flowers prominently.
With these simple touches, the room felt more like home.
"Big sis, good afternoon," Sheng Fang greeted cheerfully.
Every time he called her "big sis," Zhu Qing had to stifle a laugh.
The age gap between Fangfang and his eldest sister was huge, but he said it so naturally it was endearing.
"Big sis, Zhu Qing’s here too," Sheng Fang added. "She just solved a big case and caught the killer!"
Before Zhu Qing could say anything, her little uncle was already bragging for her.
The child had cracked another major case—of course, she deserved praise.
Meanwhile, Zhu Qing sat by the hospital bed, softly reading articles from a financial magazine to Sheng Peirong.
Before bed, she would often flip through these magazines—they were practically sleep aids. Every time, she’d barely make it a few pages before drowsiness overtook her, and she’d be fast asleep within ten minutes.
She often wondered what kind of person her mother truly was. Was she as cold and unapproachable as the rumors claimed? But Aunt Ping had said that Sheng Peirong once cradled her as a baby, humming sweet lullabies over and over…
Fangfang pulled up a small stool beside his niece. At first, he was patient, watching for any reaction from his elder sister. But when he saw none, the little boy quickly found other ways to entertain himself.
His tiny feet swung idly in the air as he rested his cheek against Zhu Qing’s slender arm, listening to the dull financial reports.
"Qing," Sheng Fang interrupted her, "reading this stuff is pointless."
"Why?"
"Who wants to hear about business when they’re in a coma?"
Zhu Qing paused, considering. That did make sense.
Even if her mother had once been a formidable businesswoman, would she really want to listen to dry analyses while lying sick in bed?
Little Sheng Fang propped his chin on his hand, looking every bit the serious thinker.
Zhu Qing humored him. "Then what do you think she’d want to hear?"
The boy tilted his head, deep in thought.
"You should call her ‘Mom’!"
Fangfang believed that what his sister wanted most was to hear her daughter say that word.
But he wasn’t sure if she’d be startled—after all, when "Coco" went missing, she couldn’t even speak. And now, suddenly, she was a grown woman!
"Call her… Mom?" Zhu Qing froze.
Sheng Fang took charge like a tiny coach.
He instructed her to sit close to Sheng Peirong, lean in, and repeat it over and over—
"Mom, mom, mommy, mommy, mommy!"
"No way…"
"Don’t be shy!"
Zhu Qing bit her lip. "I can’t."
The word felt too foreign, too impossible to say.
Wasn’t calling her "Mom" harder than catching a thief?
The hospital door wasn’t fully closed, and the childish urging and flustered replies echoed down the hallway. The nurses at the station paused, torn between amusement and heartache. They knew these two—one was Sheng Peirong’s little brother, the other her long-lost daughter. A three-year-old uncle coaxing his grown niece to say "Mom," while she blushed and hesitated… It was a scene both tender and tragic. Even the doctors had said Sheng Peirong’s condition was dire—her survival was sustained only by expensive medical care. For her to wake up would be nothing short of a miracle.
But her family was holding onto that very hope.
The nurses sighed and turned away.
Back in the room, Sheng Fang decided to relent.
He should be more considerate—if Qing wasn’t ready, he wouldn’t push.
"Fine," he said. "You can call her that when she wakes up!"
Few people told Zhu Qing that Sheng Peirong would ever wake. Even the usually optimistic Aunt Ping had stopped mentioning it after her last visit.
Everyone knew—for Zhu Qing, hope was a dangerous thing.
Only Fangfang remained stubbornly certain. His sister would wake up.
Qing had grown up without a mother, but fate would make it up to her someday.
"Will that day really come?"
"Of course!"
Sheng Fang nodded vigorously, his chubby cheeks wobbling.
Zhu Qing suddenly reached out, wanting to pinch them.
But the boy dodged with surprising agility.
"Since when did you learn to do that?"
"Ah John taught me—"
"Who’s Ah John?"
"You won’t let me call him Zhaolin…"
"Sheng Fang! How did you even find out Weng Sir’s English name?!"
Seeing trouble, Fangfang bolted.
But his niece didn’t play chase—she caught him in one swift grab.
His little legs kicked uselessly as she held him by the collar.
He huffed, indignant. Qing was totally bullying him!
Their laughter and protests filled the room.
Neither noticed—
On the bed, Sheng Peirong’s pale fingers twitched.
---
Days passed, and Sheng Fang remained the happiest little boy.
"Sheng Fang! Pack your schoolbag!"
The happy child froze, sitting on the floor, rubbing his ears.
Had he heard wrong?
For nearly a month, Qing had been free—clocking in and out on time, living leisurely. Fangfang had enjoyed the good life with her, even planning a trip to the amusement park.
Neither uncle nor niece had ever been. They’d studied guides, counting down to the big day.
But now, the circled date on the calendar had arrived.
And he’d forgotten the worst part—tomorrow, he started kindergarten.
Aunt Ping had meant to pack his little backpack before returning to the hillside, leaving it by the door. She was thorough—even preparing a "grown-up" water bottle (no cartoons, as per Fangfang’s request).
But Zhu Qing stopped her. If he was starting school, he should pack his own bag.
Sheng Fang pouted, dragging his feet as he complied.
Qing was so cruel!
From that moment, he flopped onto the floor, hugging his backpack, utterly deflated.
Tomorrow was Monday—the grand opening of kindergarten’s tiny-tots class.
But from Sunday night onward, Sheng Fang grew unusually quiet.
Zhu Qing assumed it was just pre-school jitters and didn’t think much of it.
Until bedtime, when she absentmindedly brushed his forehead—and froze.
"Why do you have a fever?!" Her heart lurched as she scrambled for the thermometer.
Raising Fangfang had been smooth sailing until now—he’d always been bursting with energy. She’d never dealt with this before.
Aunt Ping wasn’t here. Panic set in.
Hospital first? Or medicine?
She stuck the thermometer under his tongue and rummaged through the medicine box.
But the instructions left her stumped—she couldn’t just dose a three-year-old randomly.
Fangfang lay limp against the pillow, the thermometer dangling from his mouth.
As she gently adjusted him, Zhu Qing suddenly remembered—during that interview in Kowloon City, she’d gotten Cheng Xinglang’s number.
She rummaged through the bedroom and living room until she finally found the crumpled note tucked inside the notebook's inner layer and immediately dialed his number.
"Is this Dr. Cheng? I wanted to ask..."
In the children's room, Fangfang lay on the bed, his little face flushed with fever.
His tiny fingers clutched the edge of the blanket as he struggled to lift his head, straining to listen to the sounds outside, his round eyes widening with effort.
"Qing-jie—" The child reached weakly toward the bedside, his hoarse little voice barely a whisper, "He... is... a... forensic... doctor."
